My mind spins helplessly. There’s nothing I can do to fix this. The Brothers’ guards are pushing through the crowd, almost upon us. Everyone saw Sachi do magic—or seem to do it.
Rory scrambles to her feet, mud on her chin, on her hands, on her fine fur hood. I grab her arm and yank her away just as the guards reach us. A tall bearded man slams a rifle into Sachi’s temple, and she crumples to the ground.
I wrap my arm around Rory, restraining her even as I appear to give comfort. Rory fights me, her nails sharp against my wrists.
“Let me go!” she cries, her breath hot against my ear. “I have to tell them it was me. Let me go!”
What good is Sachi’s sacrifice if Rory gets arrested, too?
“No,” I say, voice loud. “Stay away from her. She’s a witch.”
Then Brother Ishida is next to us, his face gray and frozen with shock. I feel almost sorry for him as he looks down at his daughter, lying unconscious at the feet of the guards in a flurry of pink lace and black wool and gray fur. There’s a gash on her temple, blood trickling down into the dirt. I think nonsensically that I could heal it, if only I could touch her. But of course I couldn’t. Not in front of all these people.
A handsome blond guard spits on her. “Damned witch.”
“Should throw her into the fire, too,” a dark-haired one says, pointing his rifle as though he’s prepared to shoot her if she so much as twitches.
No. Please, Lord, no.
“Sachiko, a witch?” Brother Ishida murmurs, confused. “My daughter, a witch?”
An older guard picks Sachi up, hauling her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. wlsf potat“This girl is your daughter, sir? I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Where—where are you taking her?” Brother Ishida asks.
“To the prison, to await trial. Though after a display like that, there isn’t much need of a trial, is there?” The guard shakes his head. “Best to get her out of here, sir.”
“No,” Rory moans.
I grab her by the shoulders and shake her, hard. “Stop it. Stop it this instant! You have to pull yourself together.”
Rory looks down at me, then buries her face in my hair, her voice soft in my ear. “Cate, please, please, don’t let them take her away. She’s all I have. Please.”
And even though she’s been a fool, my heart breaks for her.
“Brother Ishida.” It’s Finn, standing very close but not quite touching me. His voice is smooth, unfettered by emotion. I stare at him blankly, stupidly. “Sir, allow me to see Miss Elliott back to the inn for you. She’s suffering from a great shock.”
Brother Ishida doesn’t even glance back at Rory. He has so little concern for her, even now. “Of course. Thank you, Belastra. I’ll just . . .” At a loss for words, he strides after the guards.
We are alone now, the three of us on an island apart from the rest of the gawking crowd. Half of the people around us have fled to a safer distance, while the curiosity-seekers have pushed closer to watch the spectacle. Cheeks flaming, I pat Rory awkwardly on the back. Sister Cora will have my head for this.
Brother Covington says something about how evil will out itself, but the light of the Lord and the virtuous cannot be extinguished. He seems pleased by this awful display. The fire has settled. The ceremony begins anew. Sister Cora and Sister Inez lead a group of the convent girls forward with books from our library.
Covington’s words seem to come at me from very far away. “We have seen tonight that witches are so eager to save their false idols they would even risk performing magic in a crowd of this size. Of course, this only proves the righteousness of our cause.”
My arms are trembling, my legs unsteady. Rory seems suddenly, impossibly heavy.
“Give her to me,” Finn says, taking her weight. “I’ll see her home. You ought to join the rest of your order, Sister Catherine.”
Oh. It’s so strange, Finn calling me that. So formal.
My composure cracks, my eyes flying to his. “I—I—”
“Miss Elliott ought to be more restrained in her grief,” he interrupts. “A lady should not show emotion in public. Your choice of companion is drawing attention to you in a way that is unbecoming to a Sister.”
I gape at him, surprised by his coldness. After all that’s happened, he can’t offer a word of comfort? Rory isn’t the only one in shock.
I gather myself, giving Rory’s hand a quick squeeze. “I’ll come to you when I can. Or you can call on me at the convent. You aren’t alone, Rory. Do you hear me?”
Her tearstained face peeks at me from Finn’s shoulder. “You aren’t alone,” I repeat, before making my way back across the grass toward the Sisters.
Rilla steps forward, grasping my hand. “Oh, Cate, how awful. Did you know that girl very well? What on earth was she thinking? Lord, your hands are freezing. Drink some of my cider; it’ll warm you up.” She shoves a cup at me.
I take a sip, warmth burning down my throat. I inhale the bracing cinnamon scent of it before I hand it back to her. “Thank you.”
“Oh, you look as though you’re about to fall over. Here, lean on me,” Rilla says, putting her arm around me and rubbing my back. She’s a big sister, too; she’s good at comfort. “Lord, this night has been just awful.”
My eyes prick with tears at her kindness. I don’t deserve it. I haven’t been a good friend to her. I haven’t been a good friend to anyone. I just saw Sachi beaten and arrested, and I stood there and did nothing to help.
What good is all my magic if I can’t help the people I love?
I shove my hands in the pockets of my cloak, and my fingers brush a folded
piece of paper. A piece of paper that was not there an hour ago, I’m certain of it. I tease it out of my pocket and glance down at it surreptitiously.
Cate, it says. And the handwriting is Finn’s.
arm am">To th
CHAPTER
4
THERE AREN’T ENOUGH CARRIAGES for all of us, so we walk back to the convent. It is a long way, and the night has grown bitterly cold. We walk in twos and threes along the cobbled sidewalks, hands shoved into fur muffs or cloak pockets. The mood is somber; even Rilla doesn’t try to make idle chat. People stream past us: fathers carrying sleepy-eyed children and women with their gloved hands twined around their husbands’ arms. A sour-smelling man jostles my shoulder without so much as an apology.
We cross from the government district into the market district. During the day, it’s a madhouse of people rushing in and out of cheesemongers’ and dressmakers’ and butchers’ shops, but now all the shops are shuttered. Candles flicker in the flats above the stores as shopkeepers arrive home from the bonfire. The foot traffic thins even more as we reach our own quiet neighborhood; most of the people who live in these fine houses have the means to travel by carriage. I trail my fingers along a neighbor’s trellis of red roses, inhaling their sweet scent.
As we walk up the marble steps, I look longingly toward the window of my third-story room.
Sister Cora is waiting for us inside, her face lined with worry. She waits until everyone is gathered in the front hall, and then she holds up a hand for quiet. “What we were forced to witness tonight was horrible. I’m sorry you had to see it. But it serves as an important reminder that we must keep control of our magic. What happened to that young witch tonight could happen to any of us who lost our temper. With the Brothers searching for the new oracle, we must be particularly circumspect.”
“That girl was a fool.” Alice pulls off her cloak to reveal a black brocade dress with a velvet sash at the waist.
I flare. “That girl was my friend. Is my friend,” I amend, horrified. Sachi isn’t dead.
Alice folds her arms across her ample chest. “And by standing there while she was arrested, you drew attention to all of us. I’m surprised the guards didn’t question you.”
“I’m sure Catherine would have handled herself well if they had,” Sister Cora says. She raises her voi
ce again. “Be careful, girls, and do not lose hope. These dark times will not last forever.”
With that, she turns and walks upstairs, a dark figure disappearing into the shadows. Girls hang their cloaks on pegs in the front hall and then scatter in all directions. Most hurry upstairs to their bedrooms; some wander into the library, though I can’t imagine how they would study; some rush to the sitting room, eager to talk over the night’s horrors. Rilla catches me as I put my hand on the carved wooden newel at the bottom of the stairs.
“Come have some cocoa,” she urges. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
Being alone is what I want. But I did promise that I would try harder and be a better friend, didn’t I? So I let her tow me into the student sitting room. There are two parlors in the convent, as befit the private and public facades of the Sa ivisterhood. This is where we take tea at the close of classes each day, and where girls gather in the evenings to socialize. It’s a cheerful room with blue gingham curtains at the windows, gas lamps aglow, and colorful hooked rugs underfoot. There’s a piano, a chess set on a little tea table, a basket of knitting supplies, and a stack of fashion magazines.
Mei sinks into a blue plaid chair, and I take the ottoman at her feet. Rilla hurries to the kitchen to fetch cocoa. Alice and Violet take their usual seats on the plush pink settee, and a few other girls scatter on various chairs and poufs around the room. For a few minutes, the only sound is the crackle of logs in the fireplace.
“Mama has a stack of novels hidden in a secret compartment in her closet,” Lucy Wheeler blurts out, shifting on the piano bench.
“My aunt teaches the old dances.” Daisy Reed is a tall girl with skin like cocoa and a slow molasses drawl. “She holds lessons in her barn. Girls come and waltz with each other, and my uncle plays his fiddle for the reels. My grandmother taught Aunt Sadie, and my great-grandmother taught her.”
Daisy’s little sister, Rebekah, sitting next to Lucy, gnaws on a fingernail. “They keep it secret from Gramps ’cause he’s on the town council.”
Mei slips a hand into her pocket, drawing out her carved ivory mala beads. “My family still practices the religion from the old country. We speak Chinese at home. And we’re immigrants, so that makes us suspicious right off the bat.”
“My father commits treason every day.” Violet van Buren is the coachman’s daughter and Alice’s bosom friend. “He’d be executed for certain.”
“Stop it. You’re acting like scared little ninnies, all of you. This is what they want.” Alice sneers at us. “They want us frightened. Too scared to defy them.”
“I’ve only got the one parent now. The notion of losing him—” Vi swallows. She’s a pretty girl, with shining black hair and big plummy eyes that must have inspired her name.
Alice rolls her eyes. “You should be proud of your father! Most people are sheep.”
Vi takes the pins out of her hair, laying them on the arm of the settee, running her fingers through the glossy strands. Anything to avoid Alice’s eyes. “I am proud. It doesn’t mean I don’t worry.”
“I wonder if more people are dissatisfied with the Brothers than we know.” My voice is quiet, but every head in the room turns. “Those boys who hit Mei were aiming for the Brothers. I’ve never seen that before.”
“I saw my folks yesterday,” Mei says, bending to unlace her boots. “Baba’s not the political sort, but he was hollering about that new measure against girls working. My sister Li turned sixteen a few weeks ago, and she got a job embroidering corsets right off—making good money, too. Baba hopes they’ll let her keep on sewing from home, but if not—”
“It won’t make a difference to anyone with money. Their wives and daughters don’t go out to work,” Alice says, her heels tapping out an impatient rhythm against the wooden floorboards.
I flush. Father started off as a poor teacher, but once he inherited his uncle’s shipping business, he became a merchant like Alice’s father, with enough money that my sisters and I would never have to seek employment to make ends meet. Finn used to worry that people would say I was lowering myself by marrying into his family. That I would grow to resent him for having to sew on my own buttons and cook my own suppers. That was one of the reasons he joined the Brothers—to be able to afford a wife.
My mind keeps returning to his note.
Meet me at the garden gate at midnight. I need to talk to you. Cyoubut once
That was all it said.
“Papa hardly talks politics to me, but I’d wager he couldn’t care less,” Alice continues. “The Brothers might listen to someone like him—someone they respect—but they won’t pay any mind to shopkeepers.”
“But if enough people are angry—” I begin. I feel like a child sitting on the ottoman, with my knees halfway to my ears, so I stand.
“It won’t change anything. We have to be the ones to change things. Why can’t you see that?” Alice demands, throwing up her hands. “‘These dark times won’t last forever,’ Sister Cora says—but they won’t end without some help from us! We can’t just sit here waiting for you to start having visions.”
I flush. She has no idea what it’s like to feel so utterly useless. “If there was something I could do to make them come, I would!”
“Would you?” Alice sneers, and my eyes fall guiltily to the blue rug.
“We’ve got to do something,” Lucy says. She’s one of the youngest girls at the convent, only twelve, with ruddy cheeks and long caramel braids. “We can’t just wait for them to lock up more girls or—or start setting them on fire!”
“See, even Piggy here understands that much,” Alice snaps. Lucy is a plump girl, and even a child’s harmless love for sweets is fodder for Alice’s malicious tongue. “Don’t fool yourself, Cate; these people don’t give a fig for women’s rights, only for putting food on their tables. The Brothers keep them frightened—perhaps we should, too. Perhaps that’s the only way to keep them in line.”
“Isn’t that what got the Daughters of Persephone ousted in the first place?” I ask.
My words fall into silence. The hair on the nape of my neck prickles, and I turn slowly.
“Miss Cahill?” Sister Inez stands in the doorway. “A word, please?”
Her voice still carries a heavy Spanish accent, musical and distinctly at odds with the rest of her. I’ve heard rumors that she stole across the border from the Spanish territories to the south when she was just a girl, risking execution to come to New England and find other witches. It makes her sound quite romantic, but I pity the border guard who might encounter her. I’m fairly certain she could eviscerate men with those eyes.
“Yes, ma’am.” I follow Inez down the hall. She marches through her shadowy classroom to the wide oak desk at the front and sits behind it, her back ramrod-straight.
“Times are dark for the Daughters of Persephone, Miss Cahill, and I suspect they will get darker before this is through. The Brothers reminded us tonight what they are capable of.” She straightens a pile of student papers and sets them aside. I recognize Rilla’s messy scrawl on top. “I daresay it’s time for us to do the same. And for that, we need a leader. Some sad little waif drifting through the halls won’t do. The girls here need you to be strong.”
“I am strong.” Irritation stiffens my spine, and I throw my shoulders back.
“Prove it.” She touches the ivory brooch at her throat. As usual, she wears black bombazine from wrist to throat to ankles, without any ornament, save this brooch.
“I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me so far. If there’s something more I need to do, tell me and I’ll do that, too.” I left everything. Finn. My sisters. My garden. I left everything I love to come here, to protect them. What more of myself could I possibly give up?
“Mind-magic,” Inez says softly. “It is our greatest weapon against our enemies. I want to see what you’re truly capable of.”
I hesitate, my eyes falling to the thick leather-bound dictionary at the corner of her desk. “You wa Cs
k.y capnt me to do mind-magic on you?” I don’t know anyone who would volunteer for that, and she doesn’t seem the sort to relinquish control easily.
“No.” Sister Inez’s mouth twitches, as though I’ve suggested something absurd. “I want you to go into the parlor and compel as many girls as you can to come to me.”
The gas lamp hisses on the corner of her desk. From this angle, I can see that the blue glass shade is thick with dust. Sister Inez doesn’t strike me as the sort to care for anything ornamental; there are few personal touches in her classroom. No paintings or fresh flowers or pretty vases. “With such simple commands, there’s very little risk to the subjects, if that’s what concerns you,” she says.
I bite my lip. Surely she wouldn’t put her own students in danger unnecessarily, but—
“It feels wrong to me, to go into their minds without their consent,” I explain. “Perhaps I haven’t acted like it, but I do want to make friends here. How can I expect them to trust me if I do something like this?”
“If you do it properly, they’ll never know,” Sister Inez says. “You aren’t here to make friends, Miss Cahill, and you are not their peer. You are the prophesied witch. They don’t need to trust you, or even like you; they need to respect you. If they fear you a bit—well, so much the better.”
Her words unsettle me. She may be right, but that’s not the sort of leader I want to be.
“Why now?” I ask, taking a seat behind a desk in the first row.
Inez’s brown eyes narrow, her thick brows drawing together in the middle. “Would you rather wait until some moment of danger and then find you’re not capable of it? Your squeamishness on this matter disappoints me.”
I fold my hands on the scarred wooden desktop. “I’m confident that I could do it, were it necessary. But I won’t do it just to please you, against my own conscience. I’m not a hurdy-gurdy monkey, you know, performing magic on command.”
Sister Inez looks at me in amazement, but I won’t drop my eyes.
Star Cursed: The Cahill Witch Chronicles, Book Two Page 6